


The Whole Truth

by Aethelflaed



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Asexual Aziraphale (Good Omens), Asexual Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale Lies (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale's Bookshop (Good Omens), Aziraphale's Ring (Good Omens), Bad Angel Gabriel (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley's Flat (Good Omens), Crowley's Hair (Good Omens), Curse Breaking, Cursed Aziraphale (Good Omens), Dining at the Ritz (Good Omens), Flashbacks, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Long, Love Confessions, M/M, Memory Loss, POV Aziraphale (Good Omens), Post-Scene: The Ritz (Good Omens), Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Protective Crowley (Good Omens), Sharing a Bed, They protect each other, Trust, Wank-wings, Weddings, Wordcount: 15.000-25.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:47:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24838669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aethelflaed/pseuds/Aethelflaed
Summary: London, 1999An ancient, mysterious tome bearing a powerful curse arrives in AZ Fell's - and Aziraphale is tasked with finding out why the demons want it so much.But his strange behavior quickly suggests that the curse is affecting him, too.And what is the secret that Crowley keeps for twenty years?
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 260
Kudos: 274





	1. Prologue: Sunday (After the Apocalypse)

Aziraphale talked all through their dinner at the Ritz, for hours, more freely and openly than perhaps he ever had. Now and again, he caught Crowley smiling with something that might be…fondness. He hoped so. At the moment, it was all he would allow himself to hope for. Anything more seemed…greedy. They were alive. They were together. What more did he need?

Afterwards, they walked through St. James’s Park. Crowley lingered by the duck pond, gazing at the water, at the grass, anywhere but at the angel beside him. He did that sometimes. It made Aziraphale remember the fight they’d had there, a hundred and fifty or more years before. They’d both said things they regretted, perhaps Aziraphale most of all.

He waited for Crowley to demand an apology. He’d waited for years. But, as usual, the demon didn’t say a word, just tugged at the chain around his neck.

As the sun began to set, Crowley offered to walk him back to the shop. They walked, side-by-side, conversation all faded to companionable silence.

It was so strange, not needing to worry, not looking over his shoulder in fear of Gabriel and the others. Just being in the moment. Enjoying it.

It felt liberating. It felt right. It felt… _ honest. _

Speaking of honesty.

There were things he should say. Things he should have said last night, or the evening before, at the bandstand; or eleven years ago; or centuries past.

He just didn’t know how to begin, and the shop was here, the door in front of him, the knob in his hand.

Now or never, as they say; but Aziraphale realized with a sinking sensation that it probably wasn’t going to be  _ now. _

“Well. I suppose…” He tapped his thumb on the knob, trying to smile. “I mean, it’s been a – a lovely evening. I’m so glad we…ah, but this is where I say…”

“Angel.” Crowley had his hands in his pockets, scowling furiously at the ground. “Can I come in?”

“Can – I – well, Crowley, you’re – you’re always welcome here, but…perhaps tonight…”

“Won’t take long.” Now he was mumbling, shoulders hunched. “But I can’t…not on the street.”

Aziraphale’s palms began to sweat, his heart racing.  _ Oh. _ Crowley wanted to say…to say…

Was Aziraphale ready for this? It was too soon. Too fast. They needed to know how to be safe, needed to set  _ rules _ and  _ boundaries _ and—

No. No, they didn’t. It was a new world, one where they were free to be…to find out what they could be, he supposed.

“For a few minutes, then. Come along, my dear fellow.”

Once inside, Crowley walked straight to the back room, moving around the bottles of liquor on Aziraphale’s shelf. He pulled out the Cognac Aziraphale had bought in France, ages ago, the one he was saving for…something. He didn’t know what; only who he would be sharing it with on that day.

He didn’t object. There was plenty to celebrate today.

And something in Crowley’s face terrified him.

“Have a seat, Angel,” he said, as if this were his shop.

Aziraphale sank into a chair, pressing his palms flat to the table. “Crowley…we have a lot to talk about. I should start by saying that – that I’ve always considered you—”

“No, Aziraphale. I go first.” Crowley placed two glasses next to the Cognac, but didn’t pour. Before he sat, he shifted the seat, closer to Aziraphale, as close as he had at the Ritz, closer. He carefully arranged his long limbs so they didn’t touch Aziraphale’s, but he could feel the warmth of them. “I’m – I could have done this any time in the last seven months. But, well, it was never  _ safe.” _ His thumb tugged at the silver chain again. “We couldn’t afford it. The distraction, the…everything. Especially not last night when…when I most wanted to…”

“Crowley, what on  _ Earth _ are you talking about?” Less than a minute and this conversation was already wildly off-course. Aziraphale didn’t think he could take any more unexpected twists, not after this week. “I think perhaps we should wait—”

“No, let me just…” He stretched his hands out, until they hovered beside Aziraphale’s temples. “Angel…I want to show you something. It happened…a long time ago, but…you should know about it. Right now.”

“Oh.” A memory transference? He’d heard of things like this, but never experienced it for himself. From a demon, no less? “Are you…are you quite sure it’s safe?”

“Perfectly harmless.” He was clearly trying to keep his tone light, but Aziraphale could read every line of tension on his face.

“I think you should tell me…” No. He hadn’t always trusted Crowley, not when he should have, but that changed now. If Crowley needed to start their new lives with a demonstration of faith, Aziraphale would provide that. “Alright. Show me what—”

Long fingers brushed his temples—

Memories filled his mind—


	2. Monday

_ 1999 _

_ \-- _

Aziraphale stared at the book on his desk. “What kind of curse?”

“Don’t know, not my department.” Gabriel smiled, excited, just a little distracted. It tugged at something in Aziraphale, made him want to prove he was worth the Archangel’s attention, too. “Michael’s soldiers seized it in a raid. Very dramatic stuff. Pity you weren’t able to make it.”

“Ah, yes, well…”

“Could have used another sword.” A nudge of the elbow, so hard Aziraphale staggered a little. “Those demons fought back  _ hard.” _

“Yes, terribly sorry. As I’d said there was this urgent business to attend to. Demonic possession. Entire family cursed. The house itself had become sentient. And. Carnivorous. I really had to deal with it all immediately.”

“Sounds frightening.”

“Oh, it was. Very frightening. And gory. And certainly not rated for general audiences.”

“What?”

“Nothing!” Aziraphale tugged on his waistcoat. The last thing he needed was for Gabriel to learn about movie night. Well. It was mid-ranked on the very long list of things Gabriel shouldn’t know. He hated lying to the Archangel, but no – things were better this way. “Regardless. You say these – these demons had this book in their possession?”

“Oh, yes. Not sure what they were planning to do with it, but it’s cursed.  _ Very _ cursed.”

“Fascinating.” Aziraphale picked up a pen and used it to lift the cover, peering at the first page. He could just make out the writing. “It’s printed, not handwritten. Not Roman or Cyrillic alphabet.” He let the cover fall and started searching for a pair of gloves. “In fact, I don’t recognize the script at all. I’ll need a larger sample—”

Gabriel clapped his hands. “Good! Excellent, that’s just what I like to hear. Your obsession with material objects and human record keeping finally has a use. So glad we have an expert to consult on this.” Aziraphale hid a little smile at that.  _ Expert.  _ “See what you can find out by the end of the week.”

“End of the – you can’t be serious.” Aziraphale pulled his glasses off, waving them as politely as he could. “I mean, I’m sure you have your reasons, O holy Archangel, but deciphering an unknown text takes  _ time. _ Not to mention identifying a curse—”

“We already have a team on that,” Gabriel interrupted, before Aziraphale could confess to knowing very little about demonic curses, apart from the sort Crowley shouted at other drivers.

“Oh. Jolly good.”

“Yes, they’ve told me the curse is so potent, any angel attempting to remove it would be immediately destroyed.  _ Incinerated _ was the term they used.”

“Ah.” Aziraphale took a step away from the desk. “Well, I suppose that does change things.”

Gabriel shrugged. “As long as you don’t try to remove the curse yourself, you’re fine. Anyway, by Friday night, they’ll have worked out a proper disposal method. I proposed launching the book into the sun but apparently that would cause a, what did they call it, Superb Nova.”

“Oh dear.” Another step away. “You know, Gabriel, as…happy as I am that you wish to entrust this task to me, er, we are currently located in a major population center, and I don’t think—”

“Aziraphale,” Gabriel gave him that warm look, the one he saw so rarely, the one that made him feel  _ included. _ “This raid was a big deal. I don’t want to start any rumors, but…it’s possible the demons were  _ planning _ something. I would consider it a  _ huge _ favor if you could just, I don’t know, poke around a bit? Find out what they wanted?”

“Well…as…as a favor…” There was a shiver of happiness running up his spine at that. Gabriel  _ never  _ asked for favors. “Yes, I think I can…learn a few things that might help you out. As long as it’s safe?”

“It’s fine!” Gabriel picked up the book and waved it around. “Perfectly harmless to angels; obviously, don’t let any humans near it. They might set something off. Probably blow up half the city!” He laughed, tossing the book. It hit the table with a crack, falling open to a random page.

“Oh, dear.” That hardly sounded safe. “What…if a demon tried? Er, someone come looking for his lost property, perhaps?”

“It would be very bad.  _ No one  _ touches this but you. Understand?”

Aziraphale nodded, feeling rather ill. He should say no, there were too many things that could go wrong.

His eyes drifted to the open book, the strange writing, a drawing of some horrifying creature. One word was a little larger than the rest and for a second, it looked familiar. He bent closer, almost instinctively. “This text…I almost think I’ve seen it before. No, it’s gone now, but perhaps…” He looked up in time to catch an eager gleam in Gabriel’s eyes. “Yes, I think…I can take a look. As…as a favor.”

“Excellent! That’s exactly the attitude I like to see. Now if you’ll excuse me, lots to do, places to be. I’ll follow up with you on Friday. Say, four o’clock?”

In a twinkling of light and a pop of air pressure, Aziraphale was alone with the book.

\--

“He just – just left you with a cursed book?” Crowley paid the ice cream vendor and handed Aziraphale his cone.

“Yes. Is that so strange? I am an _expert_ on Earth tomes, and languages, and treatises on magic.” He puffed his chest a little. “Why shouldn’t Heaven give me such a fascinating project?”

“Because they don’t care about any of that,” Crowley snapped flatly. “Besides, languages? I’ve heard you speak French.”

“I was having a bit of an off day,” Aziraphale pouted. “I shouldn’t be judged based on a single incident – what was it, two hundred and six years ago now? For all you know, I’ve been brushing up on my French ever since.” He licked the ice cream, smiling at the thick, creamy texture of it.

“Have you though?” Crowley sauntered alongside him, hands in his pockets, red hair slicked and gelled tight against his head.

“Well, no, but only because I’ve already read everything of interest in French.”

“Is that so?” Crowley smirked as if he was  _ so clever. _ “Does this mean you finally got around to reading Proust?”

“Well. No. But neither have you.” Aziraphale took a quick bite of his ice cream before it could melt down his hand.

“Yeah, but I don’t live in a bookshop,” Crowley took a few steps ahead and started walking backwards, smirk evolving into a rather large grin. “So that makes me wonder who else you haven’t read. Dickens? Twain? Dostoyevsky? Is the Principality Aziraphale, in fact, a giant sham?”

The angel pursed his lips. “Any luck getting your car to play other music?”

Crowley’s face fell. “No,” he muttered, circling back to walk beside Aziraphale again. “At this point I’m really starting to get sick of Queen. Hope it doesn’t go on too much longer.”

\--

Aziraphale stood before his desk, book lying innocuously on the blotter. He wore the thickest gloves he could find and – just to be safe – had rolled his sleeves up past the elbow. He still approached it with extreme caution.

One finger carefully tapped the spine, pulling away instantly.

No sparks. No chills. No cloud of demonic energy.

Just a perfectly ordinary book, really.

With feather-light touch, he brushed his fingers down the cover. Leather-bound, deep red-brown. Hopefully  _ normal _ leather, but you never knew with demonic books, or for that matter certain obscure human texts. Sturdy and thick, the binding worn through in a few places just enough to indicate irregular use. No title, but gold pressed into the leather formed some sort of broad-leafed plant. Nothing he recognized.

Lifting the cover, he inspected the pages inside. Thick, rough paper – the edges a bit uneven and ragged in places. When he leaned close to inspect them, he detected the distinct dusty scent of old book, with just a hint of spice.

It seemed that Gabriel was correct. Nothing suggested the book was dangerous to touch.

Aziraphale set his armchair beside the desk and settled in for some proper investigation.

The first step of his process: Aziraphale turned to a page at random. He liked to think providence was guiding him to the first clues.

It looked much as that page he’d glimpsed during Gabriel’s visit, yet also entirely different. Small, curving letters – a bit like calligraphy, half unical, he thought, perhaps English or Irish – arrayed around complex illustrations of green plants on one side, and something that might have been an insect on the other. The artwork was immensely detailed, with subtle color variations, but resembled nothing he had ever seen.

The text was also strange, the longer he looked at it. He skimmed the page looking for patterns, groups of letters that appeared together more than once. Nothing. There were distinct words, all between four and seven characters, but each was unique. And the characters each looked sharp and clear and perfectly uniform in size, but there was variation, each uniquely formed, as if handwritten.

He turned the pages, sheet after sheet, looking for anything he recognized, leaning closer as he read. Sometimes a word would look almost familiar and then – no, it was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you're enjoying, please comment below! <3
> 
> More soon, I promise!
> 
> (For those curious, the horror movie Aziraphale mentions is supposed to be "The Haunting" but I haven't seen in in twenty years, so I threw in things from other movies that came out around the same time. Please note that in the late 90s my sister was the big horror fan, and I got upset by particularly graphic episodes of Buffy the Vampire Slayer.)


	3. Tuesday

Aziraphale bustled around behind the customer, who had been keeping him from his work all day.

Well, not  _ all _ day, but for at least forty-five minutes, which was long enough. He had given her  _ several _ hints to leave, yet she continued to wander about his shop, grabbing up volumes as if this were a common Waterstones.

“Look at this! A first edition, how marvelous.” She hefted the hundred-and-fifty-year-old book, riffling through it excitedly.

“Yes,” Aziraphale reached to take it from her hands. “It took me rather a long time to find, and I’d…”

“The illustrations! Exquisite!”

“Yes, they are very good, if you could just…”

“How much are you asking for this?” She flipped to the front cover, nearly tearing a page in the process.

“More than you’re willing to pay,” he said firmly, relieving her of the book.

“Oh, no, name your price! Money is no object.”

Behind her, a dark shape lurched through the door, hands in his pockets.

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry, we just closed.” He pushed the clothbound book back onto the shelf and gave her his most courteous smile.

“But I was offering you—”

“I have watched you walk around this shop, madam,” he continued, smile not wavering, “and in my expert opinion, you would take that poor book home and utterly destroy it. Now, please leave, I would like to go and speak to my friend.”

The door locked firmly behind the aghast woman, Aziraphale turned to the demon lounging on his sofa. “New way to chase them off, Angel? You’re rarely so direct.”

“Yes, it does rather take the fun out of it. Tea? Something stronger?”

“Whatever you’re having.”

“After that woman, I don’t think there’s enough brandy in the shop, but I’ll see what I have.” He hurried into the back room, humming happily. He selected a bottle from the corner of the shelf, hidden behind a few others.

“Is that…” Crowley lounged against the doorframe, dark glasses tipped down to reveal the shine of golden eyes. “That’s the Cognac you picked up last time you were in France. You said you were saving it for something special.”

“Did I? Oh.” Aziraphale stared at the bottle, and almost had to force himself to return it to its place. “Yes, I…I’m not really sure what I’m saving it for.” He stared at the rows of bottles, feeling oddly puzzled.

“Just grab that stuff we had last time.” Crowley wandered up behind him. “Look, this one, this was fine.” A dark sleeve reached over Aziraphale’s shoulder and plucked up the half-empty bottle of brandy.

“You would say that, Crowley. With your palate, I could serve olive oil and vinegar and you’d hardly notice.” He reached for the glasses.

“Ooh, what’s gotten into you, Angel?”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Aziraphale sat at the little back table, settling himself comfortably while Crowley poured.

“I can always tell when you’re in a bad mood. Bit of cheek and all that. But today,” Crowley set down the bottle and sat across from him, first edges of a grin appearing on his lips, “you’re downright  _ sassy.” _

“I’m an  _ angel, _ my dear fellow, I don’t  _ sass.” _ He took a sip of the brandy – a little sharper than he liked, probably not aged properly. A little miracle fixed that. “As for my mood, well, you saw that customer.”

“Hmm, yes, how dare she come into a bookshop and expect to buy a book. The nerve.”

“Well exactly.” Aziraphale waved his drink. “It’s probably because I let that young man take home a few paperbacks last month. The word is out now. There’ll be no end to them.”

“That’s a right shame.” Crowley wasn’t even trying to hide that awful smirk now.

Aziraphale set his glass down sharply. “You could try to have a little more sympathy. I’ve only got three and a half days left to decipher that book. I don’t need nuisances. Every moment is critical.”

“Is it?” Crowley’s eyebrows shot up, drawing Aziraphale’s attention to a strand of hair that had broken loose from the gel’s hold. It looked ridiculous, hanging across his face like that. Aziraphale’s fingers itched to tuck it into place. “Well, perhaps I should leave you to it.”

“Oh, nonsense, Crowley, you’re never a nuisance.”

They both leaned back in surprise, Aziraphale taking another sip to try and hide the flush creeping up his face. What on  _ Earth _ had made him say such a thing?

“You take that back,” Crowley said, sounding mystified.

“I only meant I enjoy talking to you,” Aziraphale found himself elaborating, rather to his horror. “I’m always glad when you show up. It helps me think.”

“Does it now?” Crowley leaned forward, elbow resting on the table, smile on his face predatory in some entirely new way. “Please, go on.”

“I – I – I – that doesn’t mean I have time for  _ small talk.”  _ He finished his glass quickly and stood up. “I need to get to work most urgently. But…er…” He really ought to give Crowley the hint to leave. It seemed a pity – he’d only just arrived – but already things were getting out of hand.

Already Crowley was getting to his feet, disappointment clear in the slump of his shoulders.

“I do…there are some odd diagrams of plant life in this book. I could use your help deciphering them.”

Crowley’s hand shot to his glasses, adjusting them, pressing them against his face. “Are  _ you _ asking  _ me _ to help you on an assignment? An actual research assignment from Heaven?”

“I…suppose I am.” Aziraphale caught his hands twisting, and quickly set them to smoothing his waistcoat instead. “I told you, I only have three days, and anything could be a clue. And I know research isn't - isn't really what you _do,_ but I would nonetheless appreciate your assistance and—”

_ Your company.  _ He barely stopped himself from saying the words, but they hung in the air anyway, filling the space between them.

"Angel..."

"You don't have to stay," he desperately tried to backpedal. "Especially not if you’re going to—”

“I’ll help.”

Simple as that.

Why was it suddenly so difficult to breathe?

\--

Late in the night, Aziraphale bent over the book again, glasses perched on his nose. He traced his fingers across the strange characters.

There, that looked like – no, it was gone. Surely this word over here had Sanskrit roots…no, he couldn’t make it out. And that one? Looked like a name. A real instinct or a wild guess?

He bent over the book, surrounding himself in the smell of dust and spice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! As Gabriel might say, *things* are *happening.* :D As always, please comment if you're enjoying the story!
> 
> Thanks to everyone who bookmarked, as well - that really made my morning! <3 Next chapter in a few hours.


	4. Wednesday

The door opened, rattle and click, pulling his mind – but not his eyes – from his task.

“Go away. We’re closed.” Aziraphale turned the page, scouring the other side, eyes sliding across more almost-meaningless symbols. Did those three have the same ending? Was it a declension pattern, perhaps?

“You going to say it’s bank holiday Monday? Because it’s Wednesday.”

“Crowley!” He pulled the glasses off and stood up. He must have been smiling a bit, because when he turned, the demon staggered back.

“Hey, Angel,” he cleared his throat and adjusted his own glasses, holding out a little paper bag. “Figured you’d been at it all night, so I stopped by that bakery you like.”

“You’re too good to me,” Aziraphale declared, hurrying over to take it. His fingers brushed Crowley’s, and he didn’t pull away.

“Ah, Ang – Azir – it’s just breakfast. S’nothing.” Crowley seemed fairly distressed.

“It isn’t  _ nothing.” _ With his free hand, Aziraphale clasped Crowley’s arm, a warm squeeze. “You always take care of me. Yes, sometimes they’re little things, and no, I don’t usually thank you, but…it isn’t  _ nothing.” _

“Um,” Crowley managed. “Nk.”

_ Good Lord, what am I doing? _ Aziraphale pulled his arm back, feeling as if he were trying to resist a magnetic pull. He could feel the heat of Crowley’s arm on his palm, despite the gloves, despite the jacket Crowley wore. It burned.  _ Good  _ burn. He wondered how it would feel to touch Crowley’s bare arm, or his face or...

He hurried to the back room, arranging the pastries artfully on a plate, giving himself and Crowley ample time to cool down.

Aziraphale emerged again just in time to see Crowley reaching for the strange tome.

“Don’t!” The demon jerked his hand away. “I’m sorry, but – Crowley, you  _ cannot _ touch this book!”

“Why not?”

“It – it could be dangerous! The curse—”

“I  _ think _ I know more about demonic curses than you, Angel,” with that head tilt that indicated he was rolling his eyes again.

“Nevertheless!” Aziraphale set the plate on a side table. “I promised Gabriel no one would touch it but me. I truly appreciate the help you provide, but if you’re going to – make me go back on my  _ word—” _

“Fine,” Crowley held up his hands. “Whatever you say.”

“Really?” Aziraphale blinked. “Just…just like that?”

“It’s your project. You say don’t touch it, I won’t. Just. Tell me how to help.”

“Oh.” That little core of warmth blossomed in Aziraphale’s chest again. “Jolly good. Ah. There’s this – this drawing that looks like an orchid of some kind. What do you think?”

\--

The sun set, casting the shop into pink and orange light. Aziraphale traced his finger across another word, eyes straining. Where did one character end and the next begin? Were they even letters, or perhaps some sort of linear logogram, infinitely variable?

“No gloves?”

“Hmm?” Aziraphale didn’t glance up. Crowley was probably sprawling against something dramatically, and he didn’t need that sort of diversion right now.

“You took your gloves off.”

“Oh, I only wear them to protect the book, and it’s being destroyed in two days.” He turned the page back forth. “Seemed pointless. Do these two words look the same?”

“Aziraphale. Look at me.”

He glanced up and, sure enough, there was Crowley lounging against the wall. He looked exhausted, perhaps unused to spending so much time together; his shirt a little rumpled, now quite a bit of hair breaking loose. It would only take a moment of work for Aziraphale to get it out of his face…

“I’ve been working with you on this for two days.” Crowley pushed off from the wall and walked closer, ripples going up his whole body. “You ask me about the drawings, you ask me about the words, but you haven’t once asked if I knew anything about the raid.”

“Don’t be absurd.” Aziraphale waved a hand. “I know you weren’t involved; we were watching that ridiculous haunted house film together.”

“You’re the one who chose it.” Crowley leaned against the desk, smirking again. “What is it with you and horror movies lately?”

It wasn’t about the plots themselves, which were usually contrived and absurd. But that surge of adrenaline through his corporation – the way his body jerked with surprise – jerked toward the body in the seat next to him. It was just instinct, really, to reach out, an instinct he didn’t need to fight for an hour or two. A dozen times that night, they touched: his clutching fingers brushing against Crowley; shoulders pressing together for an instant. And, when he worked himself into an anxious tizzy, Crowley had fetched him a snack, and fussed over him until he relaxed again…

“I like…being scared…” Aziraphale managed, though suddenly it was difficult to think clearly, to look anywhere other than those black lenses. He cleared his throat and turned back to the book. “Besides, you always choose those ridiculous films about  _ romance.” _

“There’s an art to a good rom-com,” Crowley insisted. “Just not everyone can see it. But.” Long fingers tapped the desk, just shy of the book. He still hadn’t touched it. “You haven’t asked if I was…I don’t know…distracting you that night. Trying to keep you from joining. If I knew what Hell was planning.” He shrugged. “You usually accuse me of…something, when these things go down.”

“I do, don’t I?” Aziraphale took Crowley’s hand, squeezing it gently. “My dear, I…truly don’t mean it. I know you would never do something like that. I trust you.” Crowley shook his head, bowing it a little more. A sheaf of hair broke loose, hiding half his face. “I do. And if you knew anything about this book, I know you would tell me right away, without my needing to ask.”

Aziraphale reached up and finally caught that lock of crimson hair, smoothing it back, tucking it behind Crowley’s ear.  _ There. _ That felt so much better. Why had he been resisting it?

He let his hand rest there, thumb brushing Crowley’s cheek.

“Ngk…Angel…what…”

“I trust you,” Aziraphale repeated firmly. “And I am truly sorry I ever made you think otherwise.”

He pulled his hand away, and the demon sagged, like a puppet with his strings cut.

“But, really, you  _ are _ more of a distraction than a help, dear,” Aziraphale added, turning back to his book.

Crowley scrambled away, making a range of noises, none of which could be called words. Aziraphale smiled to himself and studied the scrawl across the page, becoming utterly absorbed in his work.

He was almost completely unprepared when the soft voice interrupted, “I…I trust you too. I’ve asked a few questions in Hell. About the group your side found. No answers yet, but…I’ll let you know.”

“Thank you.”

“And…in the meantime,” he started to recover his usual confident tones,  _ “you _ need to eat. Why don’t I get us something? Take out? There’s that sushi place you like, or…”

“How about the Ritz?” Aziraphale closed the book and stood up, meeting Crowley’s shocked face. “I don’t think we’ve ever been.”

“I thought…you said…” Poor dear, floundering again. “I thought we were…saving that.”

“We were. But. Well. No time like the present.” He picked up Crowley’s jacket, tossed carelessly across the sofa, and held it open. With only a moment’s hesitation, Crowley let Aziraphale help him into it, adjust the collar, smooth his hands down the back to take out the wrinkles.

Somewhere inside, Aziraphale was panicking worse than when that piano had come to life in the horror film. And yet, this felt right. Perfectly right.

Why had he ever wasted so much time?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, dear. Something seems to have come over Aziraphale!
> 
> Next chapter is a long one, and brings both the angst and the fluff as we finally start to get answers.
> 
> Thank you for reading! :D


	5. Thursday

Aziraphale paced the shop, wringing his hands.

What on  _ Earth _ had he been thinking yesterday? With any of it?

Crowley would think he’d gone mad. Probably already did.

Had he actually touched Crowley’s arm during dinner? Repeatedly? Let their knees brush together under the table? Ordered a  _ shared dessert? _ His stomach hurt to think of it.

Not that the cake hadn’t been lovely, but he’d insisted on feeding Crowley a bite and, oh –

He pressed his hands to his mouth, wanting to remember every moment, wanting to forget entirely.

What if Gabriel had come to check-in? He’d said Friday, but it was always a possibility, always. He would have caught them, sharing a table, laughing over cups of coffee about humans they’d known through the ages, leaning close, so very close. Or walking back to the Bentley, hands brushing against each other, smiling like…

He picked up the telephone for the third time this morning, desperately dialing Crowley’s flat. He needed to tell the demon not to come. Needed any excuse to keep him away, or he…he didn’t know what he’d do.

But again, the line rang, and rang, and the foolish machine picked up, asking him to leave a message. He waited for the tone, then snapped, “Crowley. It’s me again. Do not come. Don’t – you need to stay as far from me as possible. I can’t—”

The roar of an engine, the muffled sound of Queen, and he looked up just in time to see the long black car stopping in front of his door.

A moment later, Crowley stepped out, another bag from the bakery. And…were those flowers?

It was worse than he expected. Aziraphale backed away in horror.

“Angel?” Crowley called through the door. Was it too late? Could he hide in the back room? “My hands are full, could you…?”

This shouldn’t be hard. Open the door. Tell him you don’t want to see him today. Don’t accept the lovely flowers. Don’t thank him for the pastries. And whatever you do, don’t pull him through the door, slam him against the wall and –

Oh dear.

He opened the door a crack. “Crowley. I. Oh, did you…change your hair?”

Crowley tossed his head, and now all his hair was loose and free, gleaming in the sun, and of course one strand got caught across his face and Aziraphale wanted to tug it free, to set it in place, to run his fingers all through that dazzling mass of red until—

“Just a bit. Thought I could use a change. Do you like it?”

“I do, I really do.” He slapped his hand over his mouth.

Crowley smiled, and it wasn’t sarcastic, it was genuine and heartbreaking. “Good. I – I thought you might. I, um, I got you these.”

Aziraphale’s eyes fell on the white-and-yellow bouquet. “Daisies? Oh, I adore daisies. So bright and warm…”

“Yeah, I know. And they, um, remind me of you.” Crowley shuffled his feet, still on the doorstep. “I thought, if we’re going to be poring over that book for two more days, might as well brighten the place up a bit.”

“I.”  _ Send him away. _ “I thought.”  _ Send him away right now. _ “I don’t believe I…invited you.”

If the smile had been heartbreaking, the way it fell nearly destroyed Aziraphale on the spot.

“You. Aziraphale. You never  _ invite _ me, I just…come.”

“I know.” He tried to keep his face straight, his resolve firm. “And that’s…that’s very much the problem, isn’t it? You just show up whenever you wish, unannounced, regardless of how I feel, or what I’m doing or – or who might be visiting!”

“Is someone there now?” Was Crowley even aware of the way his whole body tensed when he worried, coiled, preparing to spring into action? He wasn’t a fighter – he always preferred to flee and hide – but somehow any time his mouth pressed into that line of resolve, Aziraphale just felt  _ safe. _ “Do you need me to cause a distraction? Just say the word.”

It was the perfect out. Tell Crowley Gabriel was here, that he had it under control.

“No. I’m alone.”

“Then what’s the problem? I told you last night I’d swing by as early as I could. Yes, I should have called first, but it’s not that big a deal, is it?” He moved as if to step through the door, though Aziraphale still stood in the way.

“Yes, it is!” Aziraphale pushed the door almost completely shut, so he could see nothing but Crowley, and the flowers. “It is very much a ‘big deal.’ You never think about these things, Crowley, and I have to worry  _ on my own. _ You never change. What would you have done if Gabriel were here? Hmm? Do you even remember the time you almost walked  _ straight into him, _ or did you conveniently forget that as well?”

“Of course, I remember.” Crowley’s voice was a low growl. “But you just said he’s not, so it  _ does not matter.” _ He took a step back at least. “What’s he going to do, anyway? Put a bad comment on your quarter-century review?”

“He might! He might do a lot worse than that! Do you think anything like this—” he gestured between them  _ “—this _ has ever happened before?”

“I don’t know, Angel. What is  _ this? _ Tell me that!” But under the anger there was a note of desperation, and Aziraphale had to gnash his teeth to keep from saying something that would make the situation worse.

“Crowley,” he finally managed, sounding half-strangled even to his own ears. “I don’t want you to come in.” There was a strained silence, broken only by the crinkle of the paper around the flowers.

“Angel. Just tell me—”

“No, Crowley. Don’t ask me any more questions.” He was terrified of what answers he might give. “Just leave. Go – go far away, and do not contact me until I  _ ask  _ you to.”

“Fine.” The bundle of daisies tumbled to the step. “Fine.” Crowley strode back to the Bentley faster than Aziraphale had ever seen him move. “And don’t think I’ll be standing next to the phone when you call. I have better things to do with my time than wait for you.”

“I doubt that!”

But he was gone.

Aziraphale let the door drift open, as the flowers scattered and blew away in the wind.

\--

He glanced up from the book, blinking blearily at the light. It must be afternoon by now.

Aziraphale didn’t remember much after the fight with Crowley – he rarely did, not for the serious fights – and the cup of ice-cold tea and stack of notes four centimeters thick were the only real indicators that time had passed at all.

He folded his arms across the book, leaning against them, breathing in the spicy smell. Tried not to think about how much he missed Crowley’s jokes and snide comments, the way he would bend over Aziraphale’s shoulder to look at the page, breath warm on his cheek.

“Don’t think about that. He wasn’t  _ helping.” _ He scolded himself. But, really, for all his notes, he’d contributed as much to this translation as Crowley. Aziraphale was getting nowhere, and he only had another day.

What would Crowley do, if he were here?

Terrible question. Better to ask what Gabriel would do, or one of the Scribes of Heaven. They would surely have some wonderful idea for a new angle to attack the text from that would force it to reveal its secrets, and not a moment too soon.

But Crowley would suggest going for a walk. Feeding the ducks. Getting something to eat.

It took ten minutes of searching to find a satchel, just the right size for the book. He slid the heavy tome inside and headed out.

\--

“Seven, huh?” Eliza smiled, sliding the last tiropita into the customer’s bag. “Guess you like these.”

“Oh, yes, they’ve been my favorite mid-afternoon snack for the last two millennia.” The customer – she recognized him as the old man from the bookshop down the street, the one that was never open – seemed startled by his own joke. “Only they’ve been rather out of fashion in this part of the world until recently, so it’s nice to have them available again.”

“Right,” she smiled, punching the order into the till. “Well, I hope they’re as good as you remember.”

“Oh, the modern recipe doesn’t use nearly enough honey, but I find I enjoy them nonetheless.”

_ Weird bloke, _ she thought, fighting to keep her customer-service-smile in place.  _ Probably harmless, though. _ “Going for a walk?”

“Yes, I’ve been rather caught up in a project, but I’ve made no progress on my translation for several days. I’m hoping a change of scenery will help.”

“Oh, translation, huh?” she showed him the total, and he handed her a few notes. “I’m taking German this year. Supposed to help with the grad program I want. What’s yours?”

“It’s a text of no known language that foils every attempt at decipherment,” he said as she counted out the change. “Furthermore, there is a curse upon it which could destroy half of London if tampered with.”

“Yeah.” She handed over the coins and bag, trying to make sense of that one. “My sister said the same thing about her Latin class, but she’s always been a bit mad.” Eliza glanced out at the sunny street, wishing her shift would end already. “Enjoy the weather.”

“I hardly think that possible, as I had a terrible fight with a very dear friend this morning, and I don’t believe he will talk to me again for quite some time. I would much rather it were raining, to suit my mood, but the nearest storm clouds are over France. Summoning them now will almost certainly have unforeseen consequences to the regional climate. Good day.”

He backed out of the shop and hurried up the street.  _ Definitely weird. _ “Can I help who’s next?”

\--

Up and down the streets of Soho he walked, unable to stop himself from talking.

Waiting for the light to change, he told a family how the Trojan War wasn’t  _ entirely _ his fault, but things  _ had _ gotten rather out of hand. “I never should have let him tell me the apple would make a good prank. My word, did everyone take it so seriously.”

Wandering past the duck pond, he explained to a confused group of students that, had he really known who  _ Dante _ was, he never would have given the job to Crowley. “I just thought, poor chap needs a vacation, he’d had a terrible century, might as well spend a few weeks in Italy, all he has to do is go drinking with a poet and cheer him up a bit. And, frankly, if my orders were just a bit less  _ Ineffable _ maybe I would have seen this coming!”

Sitting on a bench with an older couple, he tried to describe the outfits he and Crowley had worn in that church in 1941, though the couple seemed confused and kept interrupting to ask questions about the flowers or guests. “No, there weren’t any guests, just these awful people I thought I knew. But Crowley arrived and got me away from there, oh it was really something. Dancing all down the aisle.”

Leaning against the wall outside a bar, he pleaded with every passerby: “I wasn’t really thinking, I just – they didn’t have any way to protect themselves, it was going to be dark, and raining, and the  _ lions. _ So, I handed over my sword. I didn’t mean to disobey. I didn’t  _ mean _ to, I just – it was the right thing to do, wasn’t it? Wasn’t it?”

He didn’t pay attention to where he walked. But it was no surprise at all when he found himself in Mayfair, staring at a long black Bentley and a tall, modern block of flats.

\--

His fist pounded on the door. “Crowley? Crowley, please.” Aziraphale knocked again. “Crowley, I just – I need to talk to you, please, I know you’re here.”

The door opened so suddenly, he nearly toppled in. Crowley scowled at him, blocking the entrance, hair slicked back once again. “Oh. Aziraphale. I don’t remember  _ inviting _ you.”

“I know. I know, please, I – I need your help.”

“Oh,  _ now _ you need my help? Is that how it’s going to be? I just sit around waiting until you  _ need _ me—”

“Crowley, this is serious! Will you just listen?”

The demon leaned against the door frame, crossing his arms. “Go on then.”

“In…in the hallway?”

“Yes, in the hallway. Seems fitting.”

Aziraphale nodded, watching his own hands twist and wring against each other. “I deserve this, of course. After the frightful way I treated you, and not just this morning. So many times over the years—”

“Oh, spare me the passive-aggressive speech,” Crowley groaned. “Just tell me what’s wrong.”

“I am, Crowley. This is what’s wrong. The – the curse. It’s started to affect me, quite – quite frightfully.”

He glanced up, just in time to see Crowley swallow. “Are you dying?” His voice was painfully neutral.

“No, nothing like that.” Yes, it was easier to address this whole conversation to his shoes. “I just…can’t seem to stop talking.”

“Well. It’s a terrible curse, but I’m sure you’ll survive somehow. If you’ll excuse me,  _ Golden Girls _ is coming on—”

“It isn’t just that, Crowley, I can’t – I can’t  _ lie.” _ Icy silence. “I’m compelled not just to speak, but to say the truth, the absolute truth. I’m finding it nearly impossible to conceal anything at all.”

He waited for the door to slam in his face.

“Get in, you idiot.”

Head jerking up, Aziraphale found that Crowley had stepped aside and opened the door wide. Nodding his thanks – knowing if he tried to voice them out loud, he’d say something he truly regretted – Aziraphale entered the flat.

\--

He looked around in every direction, trying to avoid Crowley’s gaze. The demon was still tense, still leaning against the wall with arms crossed. “I say, this is the exact opposite of cozy,” Aziraphale commented cheerfully. “You seem to be missing nearly all your furniture. The walls are  _ very _ white, aren’t they?”

“It’s called minimalism,” Crowley grunted. “You should try it.”

“Oh, is this the modern style of decorating?” There was a black sofa facing a television, a broad plain desk, the top of it a thin plate of glass, and an oddly shaped chair. A few pieces of sculpture were scattered around, though they didn’t seem to fit the general look of the place.

“It was. Bored with it now. Maybe go retro next, I don’t know.”

“Ah.” Aziraphale bit his tongue. He pulled off the satchel holding his book, placed it on the floor next to the sofa, trying to find something polite to say. He failed. “Only, it seems a very strange color choice, as it makes your whole flat rather look like—”

“Don’t say it,” Crowley snarled, pushing off from the wall.

“I can’t  _ help _ it! I told you, I can’t seem to stop talking. Half of Soho now knows things about me I’ve never said before, and I just…I can’t  _ stop.” _

“Really?” he stalked forward. “So, if I asked you a question right now, you wouldn’t be able to lie, or avoid the subject or any of those other things you do?”

“Crowley, your expression right now does not  _ at all _ make me feel safe.” He stepped back and closed his eyes. “But I suppose…yes, that’s fair. You can ask.”

“Oh,  _ thank you _ for the invitation. Tell me, did you lie when you said you like having me around?”

“No, I…I think it had already begun to affect me.”

“Interesting.” Crowley’s voice was coming closer, but Aziraphale kept his eyes firmly shut. “Then you lied when you told me you wanted me to leave this morning?”

“No, of course not. I was quite incapable by then.” He stumbled back another step. “I knew letting you in the shop would be disastrous – not that I was fully aware what was going on – so it seemed the best thing was—”

“The best thing was to  _ get rid of the demon, _ not to tell me that something was wrong? Bless it, Aziraphale, even when you tell the truth, you’re so – so  _ twisted!” _

“I didn’t – I don’t—” He stepped back and collided with the table; nowhere else to go. Aziraphale’s eyes fluttered open, and Crowley stood so close, towering over him, teeth bared, and the angel trembled like a mouse before a serpent. “It’s not that I  _ like _ deceiving you, Crowley. I don’t. But I’m not – I don’t feel  _ safe _ without them. My lies. I feel…exposed…naked…” He closed his eyes again. The words cut deep wounds across his heart.

“So, that’s why you didn’t trust me this morning? You don’t feel safe around me? What, do you think I’m going to take advantage of this? That I’m going to hurt you?”

“Of course not! I’m not afraid  _ of _ you I’m—” He struggled to hold on to the one secret he had left. “Crowley, if I can’t break this curse by tomorrow, I’ll – I won’t be able to stop myself from telling Gabriel—”

“Telling him what?”

“That I love you!” The words tore through Aziraphale’s last layer of defense, shredding him, leaving him open to the world. He sobbed, leaning against the desk behind him, practically sitting on it as his legs gave way. “I love you, Crowley,” he repeated, much quieter. “You’re my best…you’re my  _ only _ friend. And I love you so very dearly. And I can’t…can’t ever let anyone know…not even you...”

He heard something click onto the table beside him, and looked up to see Crowley, glasses gone, eyes brighter and wetter than Aziraphale had ever seen them. “There. Now we’re both naked,” he said softly.

“I’m…I’m sure this comes as – as something of a shock…”

Crowley chuckled. “What,  _ that? _ I’ve known for centuries. Millennia, Angel. I just…I didn’t think  _ you _ knew.” His hand slid up and cupped Aziraphale’s cheek, and the angel leaned against it, drawing on Crowley’s warmth and strength.

“I…I hid it, even from myself, for so long. I never let myself acknowledge…but, no, I’ve known since…the church. The bomb. Couldn’t really deny it after that.”

“And you know I…I feel the same.” His serpent eyes almost blinked. “That I have…for so long.”

“I hoped so?” Aziraphale’s voice was tight, straining. In Crowley’s movies, these conversations didn’t  _ hurt.  _ They were always full of laughter and smiles. Instead, Aziraphale felt torn to shreds, he felt  _ raw,  _ and he saw the same pain reflected in Crowley’s eyes. “I worried, every time I lied, that this would be the last straw, the thing that sent you away for good.”

“I’m not going to leave—”

“Sometimes I wished it would be. That you would just – just go. Because it would be…so much easier…”

“They would punish you, if they knew,” Crowley said slowly. “Hurt you. Make you Fall.”

“I don’t care about that.” Aziraphale felt the first tear slide down his cheek. “It’s not – I don’t lie, and hide, and shut you out to protect  _ myself. _ They would destroy you, Crowley. And I would rather die than…than see you hurt…”

Suddenly, Crowley’s arms were around him, pulling him into a surprisingly strong embrace, one hand cradling the back of his head. “Oh, you stupid, stupid Angel. Don’t worry about  _ me.” _

“One of us has to.” Aziraphale pressed his face into the curve of Crowley’s neck, felt his arms slide across Crowley’s back. Pushed himself fully onto the desk so he could wrap his legs around Crowley’s, pull him close, keep him safe. “I will protect you, my dear Crowley. I will. Anything to keep you safe.”

“Aziraphale. I don’t – I just want you to trust me. Talk to me. Let me help you." The angel shook his head, burrowing deeper into Crowley's embrace. "We can keep each other safe. You don’t have to do everything on your own.”

“I…I don’t…I don’t want to be alone,” Aziraphale managed.

“You never will be. Let me be there for you.”

“Crowl—” he tried, but all that he managed was a throttled squeak. He nodded, face still buried in Crowley’s shoulder, and let himself be entwined - engulfed - absorbed in that love.

“Aziraphale,” his demon whispered after a moment. “I want to kiss you.”

“I…want you to…” Crowley’s hands cradled his face again, pulling him back until their eyes met, and oh, that look on Crowley’s face now hurt even more than the sappy, hopeful smile this morning. “But you can’t,” Aziraphale ground out, despite his raw throat, his heart straining to burst free.

“Why not?” He leaned closer, until Aziraphale could feel his warm breath.

“Because…my dearest…if you kiss me, I’m never going to stop.” Crowley chuckled. “No, I mean it. I love you. So much. Every moment that I’m not kissing you is a lie. It’s why I’ve been so blasted  _ affectionate _ the last few days. I need - I'm _compelled_ \- to express my love. To say it. To show you, and it  _ hurts _ to stop.”

“I can stop us.”

“We can’t risk it. I can’t. Not when it’s your life at stake.”

“That’s my choice.” The lips were so close, he could practically taste them already. If he just leaned forward the tiniest bit…

“Please,” Aziraphale begged. “Don’t.”

The hands holding Aziraphale’s face tightened – and tipped his head down, pressing his forehead against Crowley’s. “Alright, Angel. Anything you want.”

Aziraphale tried to find his breath again. He didn’t think his heart would ever stop hammering.

“And we  _ will _ find a solution to this, Aziraphale. I’m not going to lose you now.”

“I don’t think you’re going to have much choice in the matter. I will betray us both. By tomorrow I won’t be able to resist telling everyone I’m madly in love with a gorgeous, kind, wonderful demon, whose soul sings like the sweetest music, whose heart burns with the passion of the stars, and – oh, there I go again.”

Crowley growled, playfully. “I’m not  _ any _ of those things.”

“Well, I hardly could have lied, could I? So, it must be true.” Aziraphale sighed. His heart and head ached, he just wanted to sit here leaning against Crowley forever, but there were things to take care of. He let go, allowed Crowley to step away. “I’ve had no luck with the book at all.”

Crowley pressed his lips into a line. “I…I told you I asked around Hell. Not one word about this raid.”

“Well, it’s entirely possible they’re keeping it from you.” Aziraphale stood, stretching. “No offence, darling, but you’re not exactly a high-ranked demon. According to Gabriel, your side was quite soundly defeated. Perhaps they’re covering it up.”

“Yeah, maybe, but,” Crowley backed away, pressing a hand against his hair, smoothing non-existent fly-aways back into place. “Even then, they’d never keep it a secret for long. Any time one of the lords of Hell weakens, the others swarm like…like…some sort of…blood-thirsty insects…”

“Sharks.”

“Sharks aren’t insects,” Crowley reminded him.

“No, but they do swarm. Quite ravenously. You remember that film we saw.”

“I don’t think  _ Deep Blue Sea _ is a documentary.” Crowley frowned, but without his glasses, Aziraphale could see how his eyes danced. “Anyway.  _ Maybe  _ someone low-ranked was trying to organize a coup but…doesn’t feel right.”

“Perhaps it was some sort of ruse,” Aziraphale considered. “Pretending to lose in order to get the book captured. That would mean," he realized with alarm, "the text itself is false, entirely untranslatable. Just a way to lure a researcher in, while the curse takes effect. But who could it be intended for?” He began to pace, struggling to focus through the whirl of emotions. “It might make sense for the target to be one of the Archangels, but they don’t do their own research. And how did the demons plan to capture the angel, once the curse was fully developed?”

Crowley cleared his throat. “I, uh, I have an idea, but I…need to be sure first. I need to see the book.”

Aziraphale picked up the bag, but hesitated. “Gabriel told me not to let  _ anyone _ touch it. I gave him my  _ word.” _ His fingers brushed down the leather spine. “What if…being touched by a demon sets it off?”

“It won’t,” Crowley soothed, but didn’t reach for the book. “I know how to handle cursed objects. Do it all the time for Hell. And if I’m right…” He glanced down at the bag. “I’ll be careful, I swear.”

The book felt heavy in Aziraphale’s hands – heavier than any book had a right to – heavy enough to drag them both to destruction.

“I trust you, Crowley.” He held it out, letting the bag fall to the floor. “But. Be careful.”

The moment Crowley touched it, his golden eyes went wide. He quickly placed it on the desk, wiping his hand on his shirt. “Well, that’s…” He glanced at Aziraphale. “I’ll know by morning. Why don’t you get some rest? When was the last time you slept?”

“1941. The ride back from the church, remember?”

Aziraphale never slept, usually. But sometimes, on particularly thrilling days, days fraught with too many emotions, his mind would buzz, overstimulated, until it felt numb. Then, he would lie down and drift away, and wake in the morning feeling himself again.

He’d felt that edge of over-exhaustion as they walked out of the church fifty-eight years ago, terrified by the newly recognized emotion that had bubbled under the surface for so long. Crowley had brushed a finger across his forehead and invited him to sleep, and he’d dozed off in the passenger seat of the Bentley, feeling warm and protected in ways he’d never known, not in all the long eternities of his existence. He woke the next morning on the shop sofa, bag of books resting on the floor beside him.

He felt it again now, that exhaustion, and knew it would only get worse the longer he fought it.

“Come on. This time you can use a bed.” Crowley put an arm over his shoulders and steered him, past a room full of vibrant green plants, and into another as empty as the first. A single bed pressed into a corner, white duvet and black pillows; a plant in a white pot on a black bedside table. That was all.

“Honestly, Crowley, this is where you sleep? It’s so infernally  _ drab _ I can’t imagine how you manage.” He sat on the edge of the bed, pulling his shoes off.

“Eh, it’s fine. All bedrooms look the same with your eyes closed.”

When Aziraphale was comfortable under the thick duvet, Crowley sat on the edge of the bed, fingers brushing his forehead as they had in 1941. “Sleep, and dream of—”

“I’ll dream of you,” Aziraphale said. “Damned honesty curse. I always do, though.”

“Well, then.” Crowley leaned forward and pressed his lips to Aziraphale’s hairline, just for a fraction of a second. “Too much?”

“No, dear. Never.”

\--

Crowley stood beside the bed in the dark.

He’d found his answer just before midnight. He knew who Aziraphale’s enemy was. A solution had already started to form in his mind, but it was a terrible thought.

Would Aziraphale believe him? Would he agree to what needed to be done?

Could Crowley go through with it?

_ No choice, _ he reminded himself.  _ Aziraphale needs you. _ It was all he ever needed to steel his resolve.

“Angel.” He reached out and gently shook Aziraphale’s shoulder. “Time to wake up.”

“Crowley. C’m to bed.”

His heart rattled in his chest like a busted engine. “No, Aziraphale, we need—”

“Need you.” One eye opened just enough to reveal a gleam of blue. “Just…few hours. Let me have that. Please.”

Crowley wasn’t in the business of denying Aziraphale anything.

He lay down on top of the duvet, curled on his side to watch Aziraphale sleep. “Like this?”

The angel struggled a moment, until his arm came free, groping weakly in Crowley’s direction. “Can’t find you.”

“I’m coming.” Crowley wiggled closer, turning around until his back was pressed as close to Aziraphale as he could get it. The angel’s arm looped around, crossing his chest, pulling him closer, until his breath brushed warm on the back of Crowley’s neck. Until their hearts beat together. “How’s that?”

“Love you,” Aziraphale whispered. “Safe…” but soon he was asleep again.

Not long after, Crowley drifted off, into the best night’s sleep he’d ever had.

\--

Aziraphale woke the next morning with Crowley in his arms.

He held Crowley and cried, quietly, his heart overflowing with love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! <3 There'll be more where that came from in a few hours. ;)
> 
> In the meantime, if you enjoyed, please let me know in the comments!


	6. Friday

“Good morning, dear,” Aziraphale said, soft and gentle, when Crowley finally started to stir. He kissed the demon’s forehead, then his nose. “You’re so lovely when you sleep. So warm. So—”

“Knock it off,” Crowley mumbled with a sleep-heavy smile. “Ruin my reputation.”

“You’re a very heavy sleeper, you know,” Aziraphale continued, feeling perfectly content. Some time ago, he’d sat up against the headboard and Crowley had immediately shifted, curling up to lay in his lap. It made for a stunning contrast, the black clothes and red hair against the white duvet.

Aziraphale leaned down and pressed his lips against Crowley again, the temple, then the cheek, the jaw. “I’m going to kiss you today, my love,” he said calmly, though Crowley’s eyes opened in alarm. “I won’t be able to stop myself.”

“Do you…still want me to stop you?” The back of his fingers brushed Aziraphale’s cheek.

“No. I don’t want that at  _ all. _ But I still think it’s the best idea. Also, I needed a distraction, so your hair is ruined. I’m not sorry, though, and I’m sure you told me bed hair is popular. This probably isn’t what it means, but you could start a new trend.”

Crowley pressed a finger to Aziraphale’s lips, but he was smiling, and his eyes were gentle. “I have things to tell you. But we should get up first.” Crowley sat up, causing his hair to shift. It flared out in every direction, in spikes and waves that defied gravity. Aziraphale’s fingers had been very busy for nearly an hour. Crowley patted at the hopeless mess. “I need to fix this.  _ Then _ we talk.”

\--

Crowley entered the kitchen just as Aziraphale was setting his omelet on the table. “Sorry, dearest, I know I didn’t ask to use your stove, but as I said…distractions.” He glanced up and, oh dear, Crowley had changed his hair into loose waves and curls again. Aziraphale’s fingers ached to reach for it, to see how much softer it was without all that product in it to keep it in place…

He quickly sat down and started eating.

“How are you feeling? You know, aside from…”

“Aside from the need to constantly assure you of the depth of my love? It is truly fathomless. Do you remember, back in Rome—”

“Yes, besides that.” Crowley still hovered back by the counter, looking nervous.

“I feel…anxious. Defenseless. I’m very much afraid every time I begin to speak, not knowing quite what I’ll say or do. And when I remember this isn’t some random chance, that it was a deliberate attack by a demon, even if directed at another angel, I feel…” he tapped his fork against the plate. “I feel  _ violated.” _ A weak smile. “And yet, so very glad you’re here, my dear.”

“Angel, I don’t…” Crowley sank into a chair facing Aziraphale, clearing his throat nervously. “You’re not going to like what I say next.”

“Well, I’m already disappointed in this conversation.” He said breezily, watching with horror as his mind hopped to another subject. “I was  _ hoping _ you would sit in my lap. Next time I’ll have to hide the other chairs.”  _ Oh, not again. _ He resumed eating with frantic speed.

Long fingers moved across the table and grasped his free hand. “Aziraphale…there isn’t a demonic curse on that book.”

“I  _ beg your pardon?” _ Aziraphale put his fork down, very nearly pulled his hand away. But then Crowley squeezed his fingers and he decided he would never let go for the rest of eternity. “Yesterday, I cornered someone outside a coffee shop and told them in  _ exquisite detail _ about the time you and I met Christopher Marlowe. I told a customer on Tuesday that he couldn’t purchase a book because I didn’t like the way he  _ smelled. _ And just now I have the overwhelming urge to tell you I once spent a century trying to teach myself to draw just so I could have an image of you, but I could never quite get the nose right; but now the lighting in this room is absolutely perfect and I want to try again with you in front of me and – Crowley, how can you say this  _ isn’t a curse?” _

The demon calmly waited for the words to subside, then inched his chair closer, closer, until their knees brushed under the table, until he could reach around the plate and take Aziraphale’s other hand as well.

“I said it’s not a  _ demonic _ curse. And it’s…a human curse wouldn’t affect you. Which leaves…”

“Angels? No, we don’t – angels don’t make  _ cursed  _ objects.” He tried to pick up his fork, to indicate that the matter was closed, but his mouth refused to play along. “I suppose we  _ could. _ I mean, what’s really the difference between a cursed item and a blessed one?” The horrifying thoughts rose in his mind, one after the next. “I’ve – I’ve certainly done my share of curses, covering for you. They aren’t  _ structurally  _ all that different. And I’ve seen angels create objects that heal, or deliver inspiration…ones that can be used to locate and identify wicked or deceitful beings…oh,  _ Lord.” _

His hands convulsed, and Crowley held them, tighter. “I know, Angel, I know…”

“It forces you to  _ tell the truth. _ To confront secrets you hide from yourself.” His stomach twisted. “That’s not demonic at all. How did I…I’m so stupid. How could I miss something like that?”

“No, come here—” With a tug, he guided Aziraphale over to him, pulled the angel into his lap, wrapped arms around him. “You were looking at the book, not the magic. Like you said last night – it was the perfect trap. For you. A mystery you couldn’t quite solve. How were you supposed to resist? And the longer you touched it, the stronger the compulsion.”

“I’m…the target?” His mind whirled, even worse than before he’d slept. “But who…why…no, the raid…”

“There was never any raid, Angel. Everything’s been quiet on our end for months. It was all a lie.”

“A…another angel…did this to me? On purpose?”

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. Don’t cry, Aziraphale, please.”

“I’m…” Aziraphale sniffed, and realized his cheeks were drenched with tears. When had that started? He wasn’t upset, or angry. He felt strangely calm inside.

No, not calm.  _ Numb. _

Crowley held him closer, rocked him, pushed Aziraphale’s head down to rest on his shoulder.

“Have to tell Gabriel. He’ll help me. Always so…so kind. Gives me…so many chances…when I fail, or…or…” He shut his eyes. “He’ll help me…”

“Angel. He  _ gave  _ you the book.”

“No, he…he can’t know. He’s an Archangel, they…they watch over us…care for us…”

Crowley’s lips against his forehead. “I’m sorry. The – the blessing…it’s too strong. One of the Archangels created it.”

“He said if – if I tried to remove the curse, I’d be incinerated. Never even checked for myself.” Stupid, stupid angel. “If it were true…I’d…I’d have felt it immediately, wouldn’t I? Like you did?”

“Yes, but – you’re not – you’re not experienced with these things. You didn’t know you were supposed to feel anything.”

“Gabriel called me an  _ expert. _ Asked me for a  _ favor.  _ I was so proud. I want…wanted to  _ prove _ myself…”

“I know. I know.”

Crowley held him, and Aziraphale cried, quietly, his heart breaking into pieces.

\--

“So, what do we do?” Aziraphale and Crowley sat on the sofa, an hour later. Aziraphale tried very hard to watch Crowley’s eyes, but his own gaze kept drifting down, just a few inches.

It wasn’t that unusual. He often watched Crowley’s lips when he spoke; with his eyes usually hidden, the best way to catch what the demon was thinking was by those tiny quirks of the lip, the little smirks and frowns at the edges of his usual scowl.

And if Aziraphale wanted to press his lips to the corner of that mouth now…

“Well,” Crowley was saying, and Aziraphale pulled his gaze back up, trying to focus. “I can’t take the blessing off the book. Gabriel might have exaggerated, but it’s still more than either of us can handle.”

“What if we worked together? Combined our powers somehow?”

“Probably make it worse.” Crowley’s lips twitched just a bit, a hint of a smile. “These things are delicate, and combining angel and demon powers…”

“I suppose you’re right.” The tip of Crowley’s tongue appeared, just for a fraction of a second, wetting his lips, and Aziraphale’s own tongue moved in sympathy. Just a little quick kiss, right there at the side of the mouth, what would it hurt? He loved Crowley so much he was about to burst—

“Oh, come here,” Aziraphale snapped, pulling Crowley down to lay across his lap, gliding his fingers through that hair. It was even softer than he’d imagined, strands separating and flowing like water. “Sorry. I hope you don’t mind, but I can’t focus on anything right now, apart from making sure you know how very much I love you. And on how, ironically, that thought is going to get us both killed.”

“I don’t mind,” Crowley sighed, settling against his thighs. “Do your worst, that’s what it’s there for.”

Aziraphale sank both hands into those thick red tresses, running through them from root to tip. “Oh,  _ God, _ I love you.” He closed his eyes, absorbed in the luxuriant feel. “So, if we can’t take the curse – blessing, I mean – off the book, can we take it off  _ me?” _

“That’s easier, generally,” Crowley agreed. “Not even that complicated, it’s like…untying a knot. But this one’s stronger than anything I’ve seen. It’d take years. Decades, maybe.”

“Well, we have six hours. Possibly a bit more, Gabriel always runs late when I’m expecting him.” He tilted his head back to look at the corner, where brilliant white wall met brilliant white ceiling, and ran his fingers through Crowley’s hair again. “Which I’m now realizing is probably  _ not _ just an unfortunate coincidence, is it? It makes me feel like I’m some – some irritation, like I have to state my business as quickly as possible so he can go back to more important things, apologize for taking up his time, and  _ of course  _ that’s what he wants. Why did I never realize? Why am I so naïve?”

“You’re an angel. You trust the people you’re supposed to trust.” His fingers reached up to brush Aziraphale’s chin, and the angel immediately turned to kiss them, reveling in their slightly salty taste. “Sorry.” Crowley pulled away. “Any idea why he would do this now?”

“Well…I have been avoiding work rather thoroughly lately.” He smiled down at Crowley. “Ever since we reconnected, almost thirty years ago, I’ve been finding every excuse to spend time with you.”

“I thought as much.” Crowley’s fingers traced across his waistcoat, and even through all the layers, it made him shiver. “I mean  _ oh, Crowley, I’m not going to be at the bookshop tonight, I have a reservation at my favorite sushi restaurant. So if you’re planning to bother me, don’t come here. _ Not exactly subtle.”

“It worked, though, and you showed up in that lovely dress, which I wasn’t expecting at all, black with the embroidered red flowers, your hair all up in a knot. You were beautiful, darling, don’t even try to deny it, I could hardly take my eyes off you all evening and…” Aziraphale bit off the rest of his words. “Yes, well. I have avoided at least…eight assignments that would have taken me outside of London for considerable lengths of time. I couldn’t bear to be apart from you. I suppose my excuses have been rather transparent of late – I told Gabriel I couldn’t go to America because the London sewers were…er…on fire.”

Crowley tipped his head back and laughed, sliding across Aziraphale’s thighs. “He might have started to catch on at that point. But it’s still just a few missed jobs.”

“It’s disobedience.” One finger scratched near Crowley’s ear, and the demon  _ purred. _ “He doesn’t really need more than that, does he?”

“Nnnnh. _Is_ there more?”

“Oh, Crowley.” Aziraphale’s fingers brushed through his hair again.  _ “Centuries _ of it. Long before the Arrangement. I’ve had doubts. I’ve avoided assignments. I…never  _ questioned, _ but I’ve come close, skirted the line, pushed the boundaries.” Anxious hands twitched. “Has it finally become too much? Has he been trying to catch me out for centuries, and I’ve just been too stupid to notice?”

“Stop saying that, Angel. We both know how clever you are. If he’s trying this on you now, it must mean that in six thousand years, he’s never had anything to go on. That’s good.”

“Whatever he’s looking for, Gabriel’s going to uncover a great deal more tonight than he ever expected.” The panic began climbing its way up his throat again. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I’m going to betray you, Crowley. I can feel it. I’m going to tell him everything.”

“Look, even if you can’t lie, you can twist it around. Make it sound like all those restaurants and bars and wine tastings and movies and walks in the park were just by yourself?” His thumb caught one of the buttons and rolled across it. “I don’t know how much trouble you’ll be in, but…if they don’t know about me, it won’t be as bad.”

“Impossible.” Aziraphale took Crowley’s hand and raised it to his lips again, kissing each knuckle. “Two days ago, I could resist, perhaps, but not anymore. And what if it keeps getting worse? Imagine what I’ll be like in a week…I’ll happily confess to everything.” He thought Crowley’s fingers were trembling, but no – it was his own hand, holding them. “Do you…do you think I’ll Fall? No, that would just send me to you, and I’m starting to believe Gabriel isn’t even that kind. He’ll…he’ll destroy me. No, he’ll destroy you, in front of me, so I can—”

“Angel, shhh, it’s not going to come to that.”

“I won’t let him, Crowley. I told you, I’ll never let them hurt you, I meant it.”

“Shhh.” Crowley tugged his hand, pulling Aziraphale’s towards him, pressing it open to lay kisses on his palm. “There is…one other option. But you’re going to hate it.”

A choked laugh. “Crowley, I’ve hated every one of your ideas for the past six thousand years, and yet I’ve always gone along with them.”

“Because I’m usually right?”

“No, because I’m in love with an idiot.” He bent over with a smile, kissing Crowley’s forehead, then kept going, a line of kisses – the brow, that perfect nose, and…

Crowley put a hand on Aziraphale’s chest, stopping him, holding him back as their breath caressed each other’s lips. “You said you shouldn’t,” Crowley reminded him.

“I know. I shouldn’t. But I want to, my darling, dearest Crowley. I want to kiss you right now, and kiss you until you can’t breathe, and – and – and – I haven’t actually considered what comes next, but we have six hours until we die, we can figure it out. Let’s go back to bed, stay there to the end. Let me groom your wings, let me touch you, I need to tell you, to  _ show _ you—”

A thumb gently brushed across his lips, though Crowley’s face had gone quite red. Aziraphale was sure his own matched. “Angel,” and his voice sounded a little strained now. “We aren’t going to die.”

“No, you won’t. I’ll find a way to keep you safe. If you return to Hell, you should be…no, the rumors will reach them soon enough. You must leave. What’s that star system you always talk about? Alpha Centauri? Start there, and—”

“A-zir-a-phale,” Crowley drew the name out. “I’m not going anywhere. You said you’d let me be there for you.” The angel nodded weakly. “Neither of us is going to die, because I know how to stop this. I have a plan. But you’ll have to trust me. And stop squeezing me like that.”

Aziraphale realized his arms were clutching at Crowley protectively. He let go, and the demon sat up, resettling on the sofa next to him. Crowley picked up the angel’s hand, pressing it between both of his. “Alright. The blessing has infected your mind. I can’t untangle it fast enough. But I can isolate it, I can pull it out. You’ll go back to the way you’ve always been.”

“Just…like that? It seems too easy.”

“Well, there are a few problems. I’ll need to put it somewhere…so I’ll take it on myself.”

“What? No!” Aziraphale jerked back, but Crowley still held his hand. “That’s – that’s absurd, Crowley, it’s far too dangerous and furthermore, it won’t work at all, as you’d just – just go around babbling to everyone, and your superiors will find out anyway. No, I forbid it.”

Crowley shook his head. “This blessing was designed for you, fed by the time you spent bent over that book, handling it, breathing it in. I barely touched the thing, it’ll be weaker for me. I won’t be able to lie to  _ you, _ but that should be the only effect.” He smiled. “Won’t even notice the difference. I’ve never lied to you.”

Aziraphale felt his smile return. “Not ever? Even when you said – no, no it’s not important. I’ll concede, it  _ might _ work, but we obviously can’t stay that way.” He leaned forward eagerly, squeezing Crowley’s hand. “I’ll find a way to undo it. You said years, decades, but I have hundreds of reference tomes in the shop. Surely I can find a way to—”

Crowley lifted Aziraphale’s hand and kissed it. “It’s, um, more an art than a science. You leave that to me. Especially because…because when I take the curse, I’m going to remove all the memories connected to it.”

“No.” This time Aziraphale pulled away, sliding back across the sofa, trying to escape Crowley’s words. “Take my memories? All this last week?” What was his heart doing? His breath? Lord, he was dying  _ right now, _ every muscle in his body tense and straining. “All those things you said – everything we – you told me you  _ love _ me. I won’t…you can’t take this from me, Crowley. I won’t allow it.”

“It’s the only way.” Crowley inched towards him, and Aziraphale felt his panic rising. He shrank back, hiding behind his hands, pushing the truth away. “You said – Angel, you said you’d  _ die _ to keep me safe. But this way no one has to die, or get hurt, or…”

“Dying would be easier! Crowley, I can’t go back to – to not knowing!”

“Look, I can – I can say it again, Angel. Tell you properly this time, take you out for dinner—”

“No, no, I won’t want to hear it, I’ll just – I’ll reject you,” he realized with horror. “Oh, Crowley, I’m sorry, I swear, I’ll think I’m doing it to protect you. You must understand that I – I won’t mean it, but I will...”

“So, I can…I can explain. Tell you about the book and Gabriel and—”

“And I won’t believe you. Oh,  _ Lord, _ Crowley, I’m going to trust him again. After everything he did…” Aziraphale hunched over himself, arms pressed to his chest, heart palpitating. “I can’t…can’t go back to that…” He could picture himself, following Gabriel around like a puppy, not even aware of how many times he’d been kicked. Had the Archangel ever liked him?

“There’s got to be something we can do. Write yourself a letter, make a video, tell me something only you would know…”

“And then what? Once I’m convinced, I’ll – can you return the memories? That’s what I’ll ask.”

“Yes. I'm not - they won't be destroyed, I'll just be holding them for a while.” Aziraphale felt himself begin to relax. Put that way, it sounded...not _good,_ but at least not _terrifying._ “But until I’ve removed the blessing you’ll just…wind up like this again. Back where we started.”

“And how long will that take? You said decades…”

“Twenty years,” Crowley shrugged. “Maybe thirty. As I said, untying a knot – if you rush it, it gets worse.”

“That isn’t… _ so  _ bad,” Aziraphale admitted, rubbing a hand across his face. “But that means…oh,  _ Lord, _ we’re going to do this, aren’t we?” He moved back across the sofa, set his head on Crowley’s shoulder. “It means you can’t tell me. Not until the memories are ready, because I’ll just insist you return them immediately. And round and round we’ll go. So, you can’t tell me about the curse, or about Gabriel, or…or even…”

“That I love you,” Crowley half-swallowed the word, as if it hurt. He slid his arm around Aziraphale’s waist and pressed his lips to the angel’s temple. “And I’ll have to stand by while you try to please that – that – that—”

“That arrogant sod? That self-righteous pus stain? That condescending, pusillanimous, egotistical, cold-hearted—”

“I was going to say ‘bastard.’ Or maybe ‘wank-wings.’ Where did you even learn that sort of language?”

“I read, darling.” Aziraphale sighed, leaning into his embrace. “We’ve waited six thousand years. What’s twenty more?” He picked up Crowley’s hand and studied it. “Can you restore them as soon as they’re ready?”

“Technically, yes. But even with the blessing removed, you’ll probably be unable to lie for a day or two. Residue. I’ll have to wait until we’re somewhere we won’t be disturbed. And  _ you _ can be very stubborn about going off the grid.”

“Then try not make it sound like some – some  _ illicit activity _ and maybe I’ll come along.” He kissed Crowley’s cheek. “And do be sure there’s at least a double bed. Oh, don’t blush so. I don’t plan to let go of you for two days, it’ll need to be big enough for me to hold you while you sleep.” He remembered the way Crowley had looked, in the dawn light, nestled in his arms, and he would happily have lived in that moment for eternity.

They sat together for a few minutes, not talking, just feeling the love flow between them. It was the most honest Aziraphale had ever been.

“So,” he finally broke the silence. “How long will this take?”

“Extracting the blessing and memories – maybe an hour? And you’ll need to rest at least an hour more while your mind recovers.”

“That leaves us…four hours.” He rested his hand on Crowley’s knee. “Closer to three and a half. And I think I’d rather make the most of that time.”

Crowley swallowed, fingers twitching nervously. “Anything you want, Angel.”

“Anything?” He tilted his head up to meet those golden eyes and grinned wickedly. “Anything at all?”

\--

Eliza looked at the earrings in the glass counter of the pawn shop. “I mean, they  _ look _ nice,” she grumbled, “but I still think mom would rather have a watch for her birthday.”

“Would she?” her sister smirked. “Or are you just saying that because the earrings cost more, and you want to go see that band? You know, with that cute drummer from your Uni? What’s their name…?”

“Not everything is about romance, Rebecca,” she said, blushing. “They’re just – it’s a good band, ok? And, yeah, tickets are fifty quid, and the bakery doesn’t pay  _ that  _ well, so—”

The door of the pawn shop flew open and two men walked in – the pale figure Eliza recognized from the bakery, and a tall, lanky bloke with red hair.

“Attention everyone!” The bookseller called cheerfully. “I am Aziraphale, owner and proprietor of A.Z. Fell’s in Soho, which is a perfectly wonderful pseudonym, despite all complaints I have received. This exquisite creature is Anthony J. Crowley, my best friend, the love of my life, and the most darling being in the entire world. We are here to celebrate a love that is entwined into the whole of human history, and anyone who wishes to join us is invited to meet at the duck pond in St James’s Park in half an hour. Anyone who does not approve is invited to go sit on an egg!” He beamed proudly at the man beside him, whose face was almost as red as his hair.

“Yeah, I still don’t think you have that last part right, Angel.”

“Nonsense, what could be more unpleasant than sitting on an egg? You, good sir!” He pointed to the owner of the shop. “We are here to look at jewelry!”

Eliza sighed and turned back to the argument with her sister, but froze at the familiar gleam in Rebecca’s eyes. “No. No we are  _ not _ going to the park! There’s probably nothing going on! Yesterday that man told me he  _ controls the weather!” _

“But they’re in love!” Rebecca squealed. “And whatever’s going on it’ll probably be a riot.” She gasped, grabbing Eliza’s arm. “We should bring cake!”

“No, we’re not – you can’t use my bakery discount for…whatever this is!”

“Oi. Humans.” They looked up to see the man with the dark suit and red hair. His eyes were brilliant gold with slit pupils, like a cat, focused on the case behind them. “You’re standing in front of the rings.” His tone was harsh, but his face was still flushed pink.

“Congratulations,” Rebecca giggled, even as Eliza pushed her out of the way. “There’s a really nice gold one in the back!”

“That’s it,” Eliza groaned. “We can – just – buy mom that dress we saw. Let’s go.”

“Aw, you’re no fun. Look, I’ll pay for your half of the gift,  _ and _ buy you those concert tickets.  _ Please _ can we go?”

Eliza rubbed her eye. “What  _ kind _ of cake?”

\--

Half an hour later, Aziraphale stood beside the duck pond, hand tapping excitedly against the fence. The weather was perfect, almost a dozen people had gathered, and most importantly…Crowley was there, pinning a red rosebud to Aziraphale’s lapel.

“You have to stop looking at me like that,” Crowley complained. “It’s embarrassing.”

“Well, anything else would be a lie.” Aziraphale reached up and straightened the white daisy in Crowley’s buttonhole.

“Are you sure you want to do this  _ here? _ Where we…had our fight?” His eyes tightened just at the mention of it.

“Where better? If we hadn’t fought, I wouldn’t have tried to stop that spy ring, and you wouldn’t have had to save me – and I wouldn’t have realized I love you more than all the wine in France.” He gazed out over the water, and noticed the black swan was there again. "Besides. It was always one of my favorite spots. And when we...weren't speaking...I would come here to remember you."

“Nnh.” Crowley leaned forward, pressing their foreheads together for just a second. “Fine. But…” he turned his head, stealing a glance toward the spectators. “I didn’t think so many would come.”

“You can put your glasses back on, you know. I only mind a  _ little,  _ but your comfort is far more important to me than having this moment be completed by the sight of your gorgeous eyes.”

“No.” He straightened up, and the smile that hovered at the corner of his lips was more brilliant than the light of Heaven. “I told you, while you don’t have your defenses, I don’t have mine.” His eyes darted to their audience again. “Just…why? I thought you didn’t want anyone to see you like this.”

“Because, my dearest love, if I’m not going to remember this moment, at least all of them will.”

“Ngk. If you want. Just.” Another anxious look. “Don’t make me  _ talk _ to anyone.”

“Just me, I promise.”

Aziraphale pulled out a silver chain from his pocket, and draped it around Crowley’s neck. None of the rings had looked right but this…somehow…was perfect.

“Anthony J. Crowley,” he began, loud enough for his voice to carry. “My darling. My love. I trust you with everything that I am, as I always have, as I always will, forever and ever. You have cared for me, when no one else did, kept me close when I pushed you away, came to my aid when I thought all was lost, with never a moment’s hesitation. You are my best friend, have been for centuries, and I want nothing more than to be by your side for centuries to come. For eternity, if we can have it.” He smiled and ran his fingers across Crowley's new chain. Yes. Perfect.

Crowley glared at his feet, biting his lip. “For Satan’s sake, Angel…” his eyes drifted up, filled with tears. “How am I supposed to follow  _ that?” _

Aziraphale took his hand. “However you wish, my Crowley. My love for you isn’t going to change because of a few words.”

“I hope not.” With one last glare towards the crowd – which was perhaps meant to be intimidating, but utterly ruined by the way he blushed – Crowley leaned forward and whispered in Aziraphale’s ear.

“Yes, dear. That…that will do nicely.”

Aziraphale held out his hand and Crowley produced a golden signet ring. He slid it onto Aziraphale’s pinky, where no one would suspect it meant a thing, least of all Aziraphale, and twined their fingers together. Both their hands trembled.

“Well,” Aziraphale said, blinking his eyes clear. “I – thank you all for coming. I suppose that’s…”

“Kiss!” A young woman’s voice called from the crowd. “It’s not official until you kiss!”

“Rebecca,  _ shut up,” _ another voice cut in.

Aziraphale took both of Crowley’s hands in his. “Well. You heard the excitable young lady.”

“I don’t think there’s anything  _ official _ about any of this,” Crowley said dryly, but he leaned closer, hesitating. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. I’m sure.”

The first brush of Crowley’s lips stole his breath away.

The second destroyed him, tore him apart, left him hollow and raw.

The third breathed new life, filled him with a love and hope beyond anything he’d ever experienced.

After that, his tongue brushed Crowley’s bottom lip, and he rather lost track of things.

\--

“Wow,” Rebecca said, eyebrows vanishing into her hair. “I did  _ not _ know old men kissed like that.”

“Why are you so weird?” Eliza sighed. “Are you happy now? We saw their…semi-wedding. Can we go?”

“Eliza, you can’t leave the wedding before the cake.” She held the box up. “Oi! Anyone want  _ cake?” _

\--

Aziraphale broke off the kiss, turning so suddenly Crowley lost his balance and would have fallen in the pond had the fence not stopped him. The demon gasped for breath, trying to think through the brilliant, golden sparks that filled his mind, trying to feel anything beyond that wonderful, eternal glow of—

“Darling, did you hear that? Someone brought  _ cake!” _

\--

They sat together, one last time, on the shop sofa, watching the seconds tick away.

“It’s…it’s only twenty years, Crowley,” Aziraphale said, head resting on his shoulder, twisting the new ring on his pinky. It had little wings. Utterly perfect. “It’ll be over before you know it.”

“Nh,” his husband grunted, running a thumb along the silver chain. “Long as something doesn’t go wrong.”

“What would go wrong? The blessing? You’re sure you can unravel it? It might be different from a curse—”

“No,” Crowley interrupted, resting a hand on Aziraphale’s temple. “I can see it clearly now. Twenty…maybe twenty-one years. But what if Gabriel tries something else? You won’t even know to look out for it.”

“Yes, I’m afraid I’ll have to trust you to keep an eye on…well, me.” He carefully unpinned the rosebud from his jacket, spinning it between his fingers. “Don’t let me take any foolish risks, either. I…I’m going to think protecting us both is  _ my _ job. I’m used to taking care of these things. Be patient with me, and know that I love you.”

Crowley kissed the top of his head. “How will I know when you’re thinking about me?”

“Oh, my dear. I always am.” He sat up to meet those golden eyes. “If I’m talking, I’m trying not to say  _ I love you. _ If I’m silent, I’m trying to hold it in. If I smile, I’m remembering how much I love you. If I get annoyed, it’s because I can’t believe I love such an idiot. There is no moment that my heart isn’t full of you.” He looked at the clock. Two minutes to go.

Crowley’s fingers landed on his chin, turning him back.

“I – I – I suppose I’ll see you in twenty years?”

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Crowley smiled. “Movie night.”

“Oh, yes. Something with a wedding at the end, I think, regardless of what I say.” His eyes darted to the clock. “Crowley. Kiss me again.”

It was just as soft – as tender – as passionate – as glorious as the first.

Crowley’s fingers pressed to his temples.

“I love you,” Aziraphale whispered, one last time.

\--

An hour later, Crowley stood up, arranging his husband – his best friend – his angel on the sofa.

One last kiss on the forehead. It would have to hold him over for a few decades, and he had a feeling the 2000s were going to be rough.

“Goodnight, Angel,” he said, softly, pulling his glasses out of his pocket, sliding them on his nose. His defense against the world back in place.

Crowley walked out of the bookshop, and began to pick at the edges of the blessing in his mind.

\--

The Archangel Gabriel appeared in the dusty collection of records Aziraphale was so fond of. He arrived two hours later than scheduled, knowing it would make the Principality anxious and eager to please.

He had waited thousands of years for this moment.

Ever since Eden, really – since the Guardian of the Eastern Gate had questioned the decision to throw the humans out. It had been a small question –  _ are you sure? _ – but these things always started small.

He’d been watching for signs of rebellion, signs of doubt. He had his suspicions. Some angels flaunted their disobedience, others carefully hid it, walking the line, pretending to believe while harboring wicked, deceitful thoughts. Well. They all slipped up eventually.

All except Aziraphale.

There he was now, wandering out from a dark corner, eyes stuck on another of those – those  _ books. _ He glanced up, then jumped, startled. “Oh! Oh, Gabriel. Oh, my. What brings you here?”

“I’ve come for your update.” He folded his hands and waited.

It was the perfect trap. Aziraphale would have spent the last five days  _ touching _ the blessing,  _ breathing _ it in, rolling it through his mind and weaving it in his thoughts as he tried to decipher the infinitely-changing text. It should have a complete hold on him now, compelling him to express his deepest secrets. Finally, finally, Gabriel would have the confession he needed to prove Aziraphale was a corrupt, worthless angel.

The Principality blinked his over-bright, nervous eyes.

“Update? On…? I’m sorry, I’ve been terribly busy this week.”

“The book,” Gabriel prompted. Aziraphale shook his head. “The cursed book?”

“Oh, the book! Oh, oh, no, I forgot entirely!” Aziraphale spun, searching the room, hesitating for just a second on a vase full of flowers. “I’m sure I have it around here somewhere. I put it on my desk, thinking  _ this should be quite interesting. _ Yes! There.” He crossed the floor and picked it up, holding it out to Gabriel with a bland, sheepish grin.

Gabriel waited again, but still no compulsion seemed to loosen Aziraphale’s tongue. “Well? What did you find out?”

“Nothing. I’m sorry, as I said, I’ve been quite busy. Only had a chance to glance at it two, maybe three times.” He tipped up the book to look sadly at the cover. “Fascinating stuff. Pity it has to be destroyed.”

“Yes,” Gabriel said, jaw tight, pulling the tome from his hands. “Pity.” It had taken  _ seven years _ to create that book, and another three to perfect the blessing. How,  _ how _ could it have failed? “What  _ have _ you been up to this week?”

“Oh, this and that. Various concerns of London. Minor healing here, bit of good luck there. Nothing to concern you with, but sadly it kept me out of my shop for days on end.”

That was all. The same blathering, unconfirmable  _ nothing _ as ever, hidden behind that simpering, smirking face. The lying, treacherous  _ bastard  _ was about to get away with it  _ again. _ Whatever  _ it  _ was. Gabriel had to fight not to lose his temper, throw the book, smite the disrespectful Principality where he stood.

“Well.” He dropped the book onto a chair. “Sorry to hear that. Perhaps we can get an extension—”

“Oh, no,” Aziraphale frowned. “No, this all sounds  _ quite _ dangerous. I’m afraid the best thing is to get rid of it as soon as possible. I’ve had a bit of time to think, and mystery aside, there’s not likely anything to be learned from it. After all, the demons associated with it were all killed, correct?”

“Yes,” Gabriel grunted. “I did – I told you I was counting on you for this, didn’t I?”

Aziraphale’s face crumpled into guilt. At least  _ that _ still worked. “Yes…you did say something to that effect. I’m – I am sorry to disappoint, but—”

“Disappoint? I  _ ordered  _ you to get answers. You know what this means?”

“I – I – I—”

It was almost enough to make Gabriel smile. But that panic wouldn’t do him much good – this job hadn’t been sanctioned by anyone in Heaven, so the worst Gabriel could do was berate the Principality in private, and make a show of forgiving him. That might buy a few years of quiet obedience, but it didn’t solve the core problem, that defective knot that he knew lived in Aziraphale’s soul.

“I – I don’t believe you did.”

“Excuse me?”

“No, I’m sorry, Gabriel, but when you came here on Monday, you said you wanted to  _ consult _ with me on a cursed book. I…that is, you said this was a favor, not an – an actual  _ order _ as such. So, while I am sorry to disappoint you, truly I am…”

The Archangel clapped his hands, squeezing them, imagining the core of Aziraphale’s true form was being crushed between them. “No! You’re right. This – this was a favor and…well…” He floundered.

And that absolute bastard  _ smiled  _ at him. “Jolly good. Glad that’s sorted. But, please, Gabriel. Anything you need in future. I would  _ very much _ like another chance to assist you.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I’ll find something.” He picked up the book and prepared to depart, then hesitated. There was a suspicion that had lurked in his mind for nearly a thousand years. “By the way, was that demon…what’s his name…Crowley? Was he involved in any of this…this business of yours?”

That stupid, nervous smile flashed across Aziraphale’s face, but he was almost entirely calm when he replied: “No, I haven’t seen Crowley all week.”

“Well. See you soon.”

The next instant, Gabriel was back in Heaven, in his private office. He tossed the book aside. So much  _ wasted effort. _

Still. There was one big project on the horizon. Something Aziraphale couldn’t help but fail at.

He pressed a button on his desk phone. “Get me an update on the Armageddon plans.”

\--

Gabriel left, and Aziraphale felt the knot of worry untie in his stomach. The whole situation with that cursed book had entirely slipped his mind while he…

While he…

What  _ had _ he been up to this week?

He remembered bits and pieces. Wandering the streets, talking to people, the usual. He’d picked up this lovely golden ring somewhere, and had already grown quite fond of it. But the week had flown by in a rather extraordinary way, and he couldn’t quite account for it.

Well, be that as it may. He was quite glad to spend the rest of the evening in his favorite chair, perhaps reread  _ Hamlet _ or one of Georgette Heyer’s novels. Yes, he was very much in the mood for a _happy_ ending tonight, though he wasn’t sure why.

On his way to the shelves, he noticed the vase full of daisies again. He couldn’t recall where they came from, but they did brighten up the room wonderfully.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale's vows were written with help from [under-a-linden-tree ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/under_a_linden_tree/pseuds/under_a_linden_tree)because it was just a bit more sap than I'm comfortable with. Thank you! :D and thanks for helping even though I was being SO SECRETIVE about this wedding.
> 
> In reference to reconnecting "almost thirty years ago" - I always hold that the fight didn't fully end until Aziraphale gave Crowley the holy water; between the church and then, things were awkward as he tried to navigate his newly acknowledged feelings and Crowley tried to find his own way to keep them safe. So in this case, Aziraphale's skipping off work started in the early 1970s, when they felt comfortable enough to bury the hatchet.
> 
> And yes, he did rescue the daisies Crowley brought on Thursday.
> 
> Thank you for reading! Two short epilogues will be up in the next hour or two. Please comment if you enjoyed it! <3
> 
> \--
> 
> Note: This fic is tagged "asexual" but a few of Aziraphale's remarks on beds are a bit ambiguous as to whether they are sexual or not. As a rule, I write Aziraphale and Crowley as acespec, but leave their exact orientation up to interpretation, unless it's plot relevant. But, as a result, I've tended to avoid using the asexual tags on a lot of my fics. I'm trying to be better about that; I've also noticed a few people asking about how to write ace characters, so I thought I'd elaborate a bit.
> 
> In this fic I'm envisioning both Crowley and Aziraphale as sex neutral. They are both at least theoretically interested in sex as a bonding experience, but not particularly compelled to explore it (truth-blessings aside). Much of Aziraphale's blessing-induced anxiety on the early part of this chapter came from needing a way to demonstrate his love, and while sex might be an option, he wouldn't consider it more "important" or "real" than the others.


	7. Epilogue I: Saturday

For just a second, Aziraphale thought Crowley’s mouth raised in a smile as he approached, holding his tartan umbrella against the rain.

“There you are.” The angel wore his most put-upon smile, which he felt was appropriate, all things considered. “Why we had to come to this cinema instead of our usual one is beyond me.”

Crowley tossed his hair; it was damp from the rain, but hanging loose. Crowley hadn’t worn his hair that way in years. Perhaps the fashions were changing again. One strand was caught on his glasses, and Aziraphale’s mind made some foolish suggestion about tucking it behind his ear. “Had to come here, Angel. This is where the film is playing.”

“Well. Let’s hope it will be worth the walk.”

“I did offer you a ride.” He nodded towards that infernal car.

“Absolutely not! Didn’t I tell you? Gabriel showed up unexpectedly at my shop twice this week. Twice!” He lifted the umbrella, and Crowley stepped underneath. “No, it’s best if you stay away for the next month or so. I’m sure you’ll have plenty to keep you busy, upsetting traffic lights or whatever it is you do.”

“Hmmm, never tried that before.” Crowley smiled like a shark. “Might be fun.”

Aziraphale tutted. “Nonsense.” But seeing Crowley under the umbrella brought a strange thought to his mind. “You know, I think the young lady at the bakery asked after you.”

“Are you sure?”

“Not really. She asked me how my friend with the cats-eye contact lenses was doing. I assume that’s you.”

“Cats-eye? That’s just rude.” Crowley stuffed his hands into his pockets, clearly thinking it over. “I don’t think I’ve ever taken my glasses off in a  _ bakery.” _

“Well, perhaps she was mistaken. She also asked if I was fighting with my friend again, because it was raining. And then wanted to know what the weather was in France.” He sighed sympathetically. “I wonder if the pressures of University are getting to her. Not everyone can handle the stress, you know.”

“Could be a little blessing is in order,” Crowley commented, adjusting his glasses.

Aziraphale pursed his lips. “I believe something fortunate will happen to her this weekend. Involving a concert. That’s all I can say.”

“Good for her.” Was he  _ avoiding  _ looking at Aziraphale?

The angel stopped walking; Crowley went a step further, stopping before he was caught back in the rain.

“My dear fellow, are you alright? You seem rather out of sorts this evening.”

“I don’t – I can’t – I’m not…”

Then, Crowley did something extraordinary. He pulled his glasses off entirely, held them in his hands. He didn’t look at Aziraphale – didn’t look anywhere in particular – but he seemed to be struggling with something.

“I’ve had…a very trying week. I don’t…think I’m ready to talk much yet.”

“Oh.” Rain tapped on the umbrella. “Would you rather be alone?”

“Not at all.”

Aziraphale reached out uncertainly. He wanted to comfort Crowley, but they weren’t – they’d never really been –  _ physical _ like that, and he didn’t know how it would be received. Best not to try.

“Well then. What are we here to see?” He started walking, Crowley beside him, sliding his glasses back in place. “Not one of your silly comedy-romances.”

“I’ve told you before, they’re called  _ romantic comedies. _ And yes. You’ll like this one.”

“I will not. There’s this very interesting documentary out this month, in which several young people go into the woods—”

“Nope. This is what we’re watching.” Crowley’s lips curled into a tight smile. “No arguing allowed.”

Aziraphale huffed. “If I’m not allowed to  _ argue, _ can I at least know the title?”

“S’called  _ Notting Hill." _ He ran a thumb along a new silver necklace, hidden under his jacket. "I believe there’s a wedding at the end.”

For some reason, that made Aziraphale smile. “Ah. That sounds like exactly what I need, too.”

Crowley held open the door to the cinema, waving him through, and Aziraphale noticed something odd: two flowers pinned to Crowley’s lapel. A daisy and a rosebud. “Oh, aren’t those charming!” Aziraphale stepped inside and shook out his umbrella. “Did you know, I adore daisies?”

“I know,” Crowley smiled. “Do you want it? Two seems a bit much for me.”

“Oh!” Aziraphale felt his face get warm. Crowley had never given him a  _ flower _ before. It seemed dangerous territory. “No…I…I can’t take your…your ornamentation…”

Crowley shrugged, as if it didn’t matter, but his smile wavered.

Some minutes later, they were settled into their seats, Aziraphale surrounded by snacks.

“You sure you want all that?” Crowley asked, as he always did. “That popcorn is probably a week old.”

“My dear Crowley, you know perfectly well that part of the  _ cinema experience _ is the  _ cinema cuisine.” _ He took a sip of a frozen beverage that contained enough sugar to satisfy an entire family for a year during the Middle Ages. “Now, did you want the salted pretzel bites, or the cinnamon ones?”

“Cinnamon. With the frosting.”

Aziraphale handed them over, clearing his throat nervously. “And – and I will have the daisy. After all. If – if it’s still on offer.”

“I – uh – nh—” Crowley waved his fingers uncertainly. “You do? You will?”

“Of course.” No one would see in the dark of the cinema, and he could quietly throw it away before they left. No evidence.

But it would be nice to have something of Crowley’s, if only for an hour or two.

At least, that’s what he thought until he felt Crowley’s fingers gently tugging on his lapel, until Crowley bent over his work so close that damp curls of hair traced across Aziraphale’s hand, until he saw the smile on Crowley’s face as he studied his work, a smile Aziraphale didn’t think he was meant to see.

No, he wouldn’t be throwing this flower away. One memento wouldn’t harm anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! One last quick epilogue, should be up shortly.
> 
> The "documentary" Aziraphale suggests is, in fact, The Blair Witch Project. I was unable to get the British release dates of all these movies, so I had to guess a bit.
> 
> (I could not find a place to put it, but BTS fact: That daisy wound up pressed inside one of Aziraphale's favorite books. Crowley dried the rosebud and kept it in a drawer in his bedroom.)
> 
> Thank you again for reading! Please comment if you enjoyed it. :)


	8. Epilogue II: Sunday, Twenty Years Later

Crowley pulled his hands away from Aziraphale’s head. The angel sat there, eyes closed, not moving.

It would take a few minutes, he knew. He tried to keep himself busy, pouring two glasses of Cognac. Tipped his glasses down his nose, slid them back on, then took them off entirely, tossed them on the table.

Should he have brought flowers? Should he have done this on the sofa? What if it didn’t work?

He didn’t think it was supposed to take this long.

Just as the panic was starting to set in, blue eyes fluttered and blinked open. Aziraphale frowned, a crease in his brow, and glanced around the shop, at the bottle, at Crowley, sitting beside him.

“Did…” Crowley swallowed. “Do you…remember?”

He barely had time to register the brilliant smile before Aziraphale grabbed his face, pulled him close. Kissed him over, and over, with more passion, more hunger than he ever thought possible. Crowley’s hands found his lapels, drew him closer, closer.

After several minutes, Crowley broke away, tipping his head back. “Your turn. Was there something you wanted to say?”

“I believe I’ve said quite enough, thank you.” Aziraphale pulled Crowley into his lap.

And didn’t let go for two days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading!
> 
> Thanks again to Elf_on_the_Shelf for the idea, Under-a-linden-tree for the help with the wedding vows, and Thyra279 for the general encouragement - and, of course, my betareader, kindathewholepoint.
> 
> Today's marathon posting session was kind of an experiment, so special thanks to everyone who followed along! You all are great, and I hope you enjoyed this fic - your comments kept me going!
> 
> And let me assure you: they lived happily ever after!

**Author's Note:**

> This work was written all in about a week after a very stressful time at work when I needed that special combination of Angst and Fluff only Good Omens fanfic can provide! Plot idea suggested by [Elf_on_the_shelf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elf_on_the_shelf/pseuds/elf_on_the_shelf) in a Discord server, and ruthlessly encouraged by [Thyra279.](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thyra279/pseuds/Thyra279) Definitely check out their fics!
> 
> And thanks to my lovely beta reader, kindathewholepoint, who found numerous typos and also suggested the chapter breaks.
> 
> I'm going to attempt to post this all in one day, so if there's still chapters to go, check back in a few hours!


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